


you can't wake up; this is not a dream

by simonlewlove (melfett)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Hotel Dumort, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sleepy Cuddles, Vampire Turning, Vampires, do I need more tags, i dont post fics often, im excited, these babies being too adorable and in love, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 04:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6359137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melfett/pseuds/simonlewlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment Simon had realized what he was, he’d hated himself for being a monster. And from the moment he’d accepted what he was, Raphael had accepted him in open arms.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>“Welcome home.”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	you can't wake up; this is not a dream

**Author's Note:**

> lots of angst and fluff, which are basically my life. especially with raphael and simon.
> 
> i wrote this little fic in response to an ask i got on tumblr:
> 
> "Imagine Raphael's love for Simon being the reason that Simon finally accepts that he is not a monster."
> 
> i thought this headcanon was too adorable, so i had to write a fic on it. :)) this is posted on my blog too, but hey, why not post it on AO3?
> 
> happy reading everyone! i hope you all enjoy, my lovelies! <3

Time didn’t heal all wounds, and it seemed, unfortunately, that clichés didn’t apply to vampires. 

_Clary, I was a regular guy. I had a life. A regular life. And today…_

He didn’t want to finish the thought. It seemed that throughout his early rebirth all he could think about was his mother, and his family, and _almost killing his mother, almost killing Clary, almost, almost…_

It didn’t matter if none of it was carried out. _Almost_ didn’t matter. The fact that the thought of sinking ivory fangs into their necks even passed his mind sent shudders down his spine, a crisp chill setting through his already frigid, lifeless skin. Fangs so sharp, so fine, _they wouldn’t feel a thing,_ he assured himself. He’d do it so quickly that they wouldn’t have time to pull away, he’d let the blood sift between his teeth so smooth, so perfectly between his teeth, as if it were sand falling delicately through his fingers. 

No.

_No._

Why did he want it so badly? Something he’d never truly tasted, minus the short time the crimson had reached his lips with Camille. He didn’t need it, not him. He was a mundane, and he was ordinary, he’d simply grab a garlic bagel from the food truck in the park-his _favorite_ food truck-and he would no longer feel so sick. He wouldn’t feel like a ghost within a layer of sickly skin or an alien to his own body, he wouldn’t crave something so unfamiliar, so out of reach but right beneath every living being around him. And so he walked beside Clary and Luke, knowing he needed it, knowing he needed to survive off of what kept others alive. 

Luke tossed him a bag, and there it was. Exactly what he needed, bag sitting in his hands. If he split it open, blood could sift between his fingers, just like sand. He could pour it between his lips and quench his thirst and satisfy his craving and be done, but _no, no, I’m Simon Lewis, I drink coffee and I’m an accounting student in college and I don’t need this-I don’t need it, I don’t-_

Simon had given in because of the one person he cared about most. The girl with the fiery, sweet curls, the girl with the immaculate smile, the girl with sunshine in her eyes and passion in her soul. He didn’t want her to see him as the monster he knew he was, not like this. She talked to him as if nothing had changed, as if he was still human like he was days ago, convincing him that he was still the same and everything would work out _and all he could damn think about was blood. blood. blood-Clary’s blood, pumping through her veins, her heart beating in her chest, if only I could, if only-_

He screamed _mercy_ , and _mercy_ appeared before him in the shape of a well-built, pale boy with eyes that could pierce your heart and see everything within it. Raphael. He made Simon release it, made Simon give in to his temptations in front of Clary and he embarrassed Simon like hell. He was mad, to say the least. But Raphael broke the ice, did what needed to be done. That’s what he’d always done-what needed to be done, and nothing more. Until Simon came around, that is. 

Raphael had saved him once, a spark in his heart making him feel alive. He’d seen treasure in the annoying, but slightly charming boy. Okay, _maybe_ more than slightly. If he wasn’t dead, his cheeks would have surely flushed at the sight of Simon. And Raphael wanted so badly to smack himself for even falling for someone, let alone a nerdy mundane. It was so childish, so human, and he was angry that he was letting one insignificant mundane consume him completely.

_“You can’t think I’m interested in saving your worthless life again.”_

He thought he meant it, but shortly realized that he didn’t. He didn’t mean it at all. The vampire wanted to stop the other from ever returning to Hotel Dumort, wanting to do whatever it would take to turn him away. But _being kind is a weakness, caring is a weakness._ He had to scare the boy off, not welcome him in open arms. Camille was too dangerous. 

Yet, Camille had already done her job. Temptation led Simon back to the hotel, and it was far too late. He knew he shouldn’t be as happy as he was, because a human was dead, _no, worse, a fledgling_ , and he shouldn’t be happy that he could potentially have a new and attractive friend living with him. So he smiled as Simon rose from the dirt, his pearly white fangs glimmering with joy, and he figured the Shadowhunters would think he was smiling with malicious intent. No, he wasn’t malicious. He simply was excited.

From the moment Simon had realized what he was, he’d hated himself for being a monster. And from the moment he’d accepted what he was, Raphael had accepted him in open arms.

_“Welcome home.”_

It wasn’t an offer, like the first time Raphael had encouraged Simon to come to the hotel and feed. It was a demand, and it was the only thing he could say to Simon then and there, when his golden girl had turned her cheek and walked off with a golden boy. Raphael meant it, and even though Simon quivered with distress and anguish, he fought it with the stubbornness of a child.

“No,”he stated simply, his hands carding through his hair, pulling at the strands, hoping to wake himself up. “This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, but it is. It is happening. _Dios,_ you’re dramatic. And I bet you’re hungry, too, why don’t we get you a drink?”

Simon blinked in confusion, his stare unwavering, the calmness of Raphael’s tone taking him off guard. How could he be so uncaring? How could he not understand any of it, respond as if it was a joke, or a game? Despite it all, Simon needed exactly that to make him feel at home. He needed an annoying, damn good-looking thing to make him think he was being stupid and childish and realize that this would be his new life. His new home.

In turn, weeks passed. Weeks of Raphael practically forcing blood down the other’s throat, the elder vampire finding unusual comfort in unimportant questions like “What if you’re a vegetarian vampire? What do you eat then?” and “Why do you have so many jackets? Where do you shop, some vampire flea market?” The second set was the only one he’d responded to:

“If you take a second to think about how many you’ve ruined, you’ll realize that I don’t have so many jackets. Thank you for that.”

In weeks of feeling like a monster and missing his home, for once, he felt safe. A smile curled his lips and a light laugh escaped his throat, a sound he’d missed. A feeling of warmth he’d felt a deep lack of. Raphael smiled, too, because _damn, he’d made him laugh, he was funny, no one ever laughed…_ He’d come to realize that every one of his jokes was funny to Simon. He could do no wrong, not like Simon had thought in the beginning. Raphael was genuine and he felt something, unlike Camille, the heartless creature she was. Raphael was his _friend,_ he realized after weeks, and wasn’t just using him to reveal that Camille had broken the accords. He didn’t want a broken heart, he wanted a friend, a _partner,_ he wanted to show who he was and that he wasn’t a monster and that _all those mistakes I made don’t count, please, can they not count?_

Simon didn’t know but a few stories that Raphael had told as he’d gotten more comfortable. Like the time he’d killed a rabbit. And the time he nearly killed a drunk. But he’d never tell the stories that he feared most, or so he thought. 

 

Weeks turned into months, and Simon still felt discomforted. Still felt inhumane, like a monster. But Raphael couldn’t have felt more human.

“Raphael, you know, I was thinking maybe I could sneak and grab some clothes from my house…? Mom would never notice. She’s always been oblivious, caring, but oblivious. Guess you could say like mother, like son. But that’s not the point. I feel bad, always using your clothes. Vampire laundry bills are more expensive than I thought, plus, some of these blood stains don’t come out. Sorry. I’m messy, I’ve always been a messy eater, I know you can tell,”Simon chuckled, itching the side of his head, a lopsided smile set on his lips. He stood outside of his room, clad in a black t-shirt of Raphael’s, way too large for the boy and reeking of sharp cologne. The boxers almost completely hidden by the t-shirt weren’t even his-they were Raphael’s black boxers, also too big for him. But they were comfortable clothes, and they made Simon feel like Raphael’s arms were wrapped around him as he slept, the only thing that made him feel safe in his cold, closed casket. As much as he’d love to stay in them forever, he knew he needed his wardrobe back, and figured that Raphael was probably more annoyed than anything that he had to share his clothing.

Boy, was he wrong. 

“No. We can’t go back, someone’ll see us. That sister of yours has sharp eyes and even if you asked your mother-No. It’s not a good idea,”He murmured, peeling his eyes away from the other boy. _He can’t tell. You’re not blushing, there’s no way in hell he can tell._

“But your clothes, Raphael, I feel-”

“It’s fine.”

“I ruin them, though. And I know you can’t coordinate your outfits, and-”

“I said _it’s fine._ I don’t care. Dios, why can’t you listen,”Raphael sighed, rolling his dark eyes, fangs pressing against his lips, holding him back from smiling. His eyes uneasily darted to the boy’s boxers and up to his chest, shifting warily to the ground, and to the couch, and to the wall, until he had nowhere left to look. The vampire swallowed deeply, shoulders tense, hands clutching the sides of his jacket. Stop, Raphael, stop. _You’re making a fool out of yourself. He’ll notice._ “Breakfast is in the hall, you know where to find it, I’ve got to-I’ve got things to do.”

And with that, he was gone, and Simon was left to wonder what he’d said, until he realized that it wasn’t what he said at all. It was so much more. 

 

“Raphael, I’m sorry, I accidentally bit into this shirt, and there’s a huge hole.”

“It’s fine. I’ll buy another one.”

“Raphael, do these jeans make my butt look big? You wear tight jeans.”

“Oh, shut up.” Add a laugh, and a smile.

“Raphael, can I have another pillow? This whatever-you-call-it’s uncomfortable. Seriously, I don’t know how I’ll ever get used to this.”

He threw Simon two pillows, just in case he needed one more.

 

“Raphael, I don’t want to do this anymore.” 

He missed home. He missed Clary, he missed his mother and his sister and Maureen, who he practically abandoned. He missed college and he even missed the Institute and Isabelle and those other handsome, pretentious Shadowhunters. He couldn’t turn back, even if he wanted to, but held onto the feeling with every step he took. 

“Can I have her visit yet? I mean, I think I’ve got my murderous tendencies more in check,”Simon uttered, his joke sounding more lifeless than he had meant it to. It wasn’t of any use. Jokes masked his pain, but they surely didn’t cease it.

Yet, for once, Raphael did. 

He told Simon stories of his humanity, despite how achingly difficult it was to come out with them. He assured him that he’d be alright, that he was stuck with this, and that he’d have to come to terms with it. But he’d do it, because Raphael believed in him, and so did Clary, of course, but… Raphael believed in him?

 

A year later. A breakdown. _A year’s nothing, you barely have control, Dios, it happens,_ Raphael assured him, but the lifeless corpse staring up at Simon didn’t help. His hands saturated with crimson liquid. His lips beaming with the taste of sharp copper, so sweet to the touch. Everything was red, a deep red, and everything was _awful._ The shaking, quivering hands of Simon reached down to stroke the side of the human’s face, rising up once more to press together in prayer. 

“G-G-,”Simon choked, wishing he could say it, just so he could feel human, just so he could pray. Just so they’d be safe, so he’d feel better, so he’d feel like he could _save them from death._ But blood fell from his lips and he spat it roughly onto the ground, chest heaving. “I’m sorry, _I’m sorry, please, come back, I’m sorry,”_ Simon whispered, tears sliding down his cheeks in a frenzy, mixing blood and water in a painting on his cheeks. 

All he could see was red as Raphael dragged him away, the two appearing inside outside the hotel in seconds, Simon crying and screaming until nothing was left of him.

“ _I’m a monster.”_

Raphael had to change his mind. So, Raphael kissed him.

With nothing left to do, he cupped Simon’s face in his soft hands, holding his cheeks with the lightest of touches. With a second of contemplation, he let his thumb stroke gently, wipe up the tears, heal his wounds. Raphael let his piercing eyes meet Simon’s broken pupils, and he let his lips meet the Simon’s in a swift movement, hoping it was right. Hoping he was doing it right, hoping he wasn’t making the wrong decision, his fingers pressing firmly into the other’s face. 

Raphael no longer doubted himself as he felt wet hands hesitantly trace his back, finally resting upon neck, Simon’s hands curling together to pull the other closer. Lips dancing, gliding, something Raphael hadn’t felt in years, his heart pulsating in his chest as if it were beating. The copper tang of blood hit his tongue, so familiar, and he felt the tension release from Simon’s shoulders.

He never wanted to stop, but after what felt like centuries, Raphael pulled his face away from the other, swallowing hard, eyes large and dilated and _beautiful._

No words needed to be spoken for Simon to realize that he was so, _so_ wrong in the eyes of the other.

 

Simon didn’t need to imagine how it felt to have Raphael’s muscular arms wrapped around his torso. He slept like a newborn that night, a week after his little incident and _their_ little incident, curling as close to the other boy as he possibly could get. An unnecessary sigh escaping Simon’s lips, he raised a hand to glide it through the silk of Raphael’s hair, his forehead leaning against the other’s. Warmth radiated between them, something he missed feeling as a human, something he never thought he could feel as a vampire. 

 

After that, the casket didn’t feel so cold anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry. i should have warned you that you'd need a box of tissues.
> 
> also, if you want to stop by and say hi, or see some more of my writing in the future, my tumblr url is simonlewlove. :)


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